


To Sell

by T_chan



Series: Life for Rent [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Drama, Dystopia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4858751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/T_chan/pseuds/T_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing to sell is your self.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Sell

…and it wasn’t how you imagined your first time would be. Because it was never supposed to be like that. It should have taken place in a dingy bed on one of the seedy establishments that made the sinful labyrinth of the red district. Yet it happened in the sinfully opulent quarters of a two-floor penthouse downtown, under a vaulted ceiling and among rustling blue sheets of the finest linen. 

You would have gone there in search of a one-night mistress, spurred on by pubescent hormones and embarrassing wet dreams, and not pushed to do it by hunger and despair, unsure if it was a choice at all. 

Your lover would have been not too old, not too young, but oh so very jaded: all decadent feminine curves rounded by flesh grown soft after years of lying around. Certainly the firm, definite planes of well-defined masculine muscles should have not been part of the equation.

The placement of limbs, torsos, hands and feet should have also been different. Eager and clumsy, you would have looked silly topping such an experienced mistress—who would have only been tender to you because you reminded her of her first boyfriend and a time that had been long gone. In his bed, however, you looked positively dwarfed beneath his body—he, who was already a man, while you were still just a boy, so very similar, yet so very different. But not in the way she would have been different, truly a mystery for you, the materialization of a body you had only glimpsed on illicit magazines shared with your classmates on the rooftop of the school building during lunch hour.

On those occasions, nobody talked about there being other types of desires, and as you were unhurriedly yet completely divested of all modesty, you could not help but be a little angry that nobody did. The world told you everything there was to know about what to do with a woman, but it never taught you that two men could also play the same game. Nobody ever told you that, in such cases, you and a girl were not really all that different. Still, even if someone had done it, it would have never prevented the shock you experienced at feeling the solid weight of another male’s body atop of your own. Not that the sudden first contact with a pair of flabby, C-cup breasts would not have shocked you, but you would have reached out and touched them, while you could only lie half-petrified, half-terrified as rough, strong hands mapped every inch of your skin.

In that seedy room with its lust-filled air, you would have been eager to reach between her legs and touch that curly patch of hair, and she would have stopped you and told you to go slow. In between those blue sheets smelling of expensive cologne, you rather hated the moment he parted your legs and reached to touch you where no one had ever touched before.

If you had been with her, in a primeval level you would have known what to do when she finally would have wrapped her legs around your waist. Under him, it came as a complete surprise when his hand slid further down giving you an inkling of what exactly you were going to do together. 

She would have been ready for you, and between her legs, it would have taken a second to be where you wanted to be. In his bed, however, you had to endure endless minutes of slippery, invasive fingers; and by the time she and you would have been sweaty and spent, he was only starting… 

When his fingers left you, you briefly thought it was over. Only to curse your naivety a moment later when something hard and thick brushed against you making you shiver. No awkward talk with your father, no school sex-ed brochure, could have prepared for what finally happened. Boys have penis and girls have vaginas. But what to do when a penis was pushed inside your non-girly body, they never did say. 

At some point, he stopped and told you to relax, just as your one-hour mistress would have whispered next to your ear. But how could you do it when all you had once been and believed in was irrevocably turned to ashes? 

So it did not matter that you were taught that men do not cry. Because nothing you were taught would ever matter again. Stripped at last of any more pretenses, you could not help it. You cried. 

She should have been in your place, but she was not. And he was moving inside you, whispering soothing nonsense because the only thing that would have soothed you would have been not to be there.

Your first time you accepted because you did not have any money to eat, least of all to pay to get rid of the stigma of your teenage virginity. He came to you dressed in tailored clothes and designer shoes. Your school uniform had long become rags. He was dry under his umbrella, while you were drenched to the bone. He promised he would take care of everything, and how could you have said no?

  


**[ End: 'To Sell' ]**

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of the 'Life for Rent' series.  
> [Written 2005, edited 2015]


End file.
